


The Laziest River

by Tiny_Dragongirl, toothedselkie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Alternate Universe - Western, Betrayal, Community: Do It With Style Events, Hippopotamus, Holding Hands, M/M, Magical Realism, Mild Language, Mutual Pining, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, yeehaw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28979133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiny_Dragongirl/pseuds/Tiny_Dragongirl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/toothedselkie/pseuds/toothedselkie
Summary: Aziraphale is the undersheriff of the town called Mercy in a western world where hippopotamuses are the main forms of transport. When word comes that the infamous bandit, Luke Morningstar is lurking in the neighbourhood, Aziraphale rises to the challenge and goes on an impromptu solo mission. Soon it becomes a duo mission when his old friend Crowley decides to tag along.Will Aziraphale ever capture any thief if he keeps on daydreaming about capturing Crowley’s lips? How many times will Crowley rescue Aziraphale from danger? Will they ever find Luke Morningstar or is he just a legend?Yippee-ki-yay, hippos!(A wee bit inspired by Sarah Gailey’s American Hippo duology, but mostly inspired by toothedselkie’s fantastic art.)
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 6
Collections: Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang





	1. The Town Called Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fic was betad by the ever so wonderful [chewb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewb/pseuds/chewb)—thank you!
> 
> Cover art by [toothedselkie](https://toothedselkie.tumblr.com/), and we can't wait to show you what else we've got!

A tumbleweed rolled over the dead empty main street of the town called Mercy, unbothered by the searing hot air and the bone dry ground. Nobody stepped in its way; at this time of the day the streets were deserted, with everybody hiding somewhere from the summer heat. Most people gathered in the saloon, which promised everything—a ceiling fan, cold drinks, entertainment—they needed, but Undersheriff Aziraphale Barboni, as usual, chose to remain at the Sheriff Station. The little brown building contained an office and the (currently empty) jail— and, most importantly for Aziraphale, peace and quiet.

Or so he thought.

As soon as Aziraphale lifted a spoonful of baked beans to his mouth, Sheriff Gabriel Wingéd-Messenger strolled into the office, flashing his widest smile at his deputy. Aziraphale had been serving under him long enough not to get fooled; he knew that Gabriel’s smiles held various meanings, and right now he was getting his disapproving smile.

“Aziraphale.” If possible, Gabriel’s smile grew wider before launching his first attack. “Eating again, huh?”

“Well, it’s lunchtime,” Aziraphale pointed out. Then, like an innocent lamb, he walked right into his own doom by trying to act polite. “There is more in the pot if you’re hungry.”

“I don’t sully the temple of my eternal soul with such gross matter.”

“It’s just baked beans.”

“I bet it doesn’t help you with losing the gut.” Without losing his smile, Gabriel went on, “In fact, Aziraphale, I really think that you should exercise if you don’t want to end up as huge as your hippopotamus.”

Protectively hugging his stomach with his free arm, Aziraphale thought of Miracle, the brightest and most beautiful hippopotamus on the face of Earth. Of course, all creatures of the world were wonderful in his opinion, but Aziraphale had a soft spot for large hippos with even larger hearts.

“See, if you put it that way—”

“Oh, Aziraphale, I’ve told you so many, many times,” Gabriel cut him off with his sweetest ‘I don’t give a fish about what you think’ tone, “that we have to set a precedent. We represent the law and order in this town, we simply must be the paragon of Mercy. The beau ideal, so to speak.”

Aziraphale frowned. The way Gabriel pronounced it, _beau ideal_ sounded more like an over romanticized gentleman thief hero of a cheap, pornographic novel, and nothing like a tough sheriff on the border of literally nothing but empty spaces. But who was he to argue or question his boss?

“Show respect by being the law, that’s my motto,” Gabriel concluded and Aziraphale knew better than to ask what he even meant by it.

Before Gabriel could share any more of his wisdom, there was a rap on the door and José María Jesús Ángeles entered the room. The little shapeshifter boy was the general dogsbody of the Post Office, told every day how lucky he was for landing such a position instead of ending up on a plantation as another slave. Aziraphale, as a sworn protector of Justice, often wondered if a world where little boys get their lamb ears pulled and pointed at, could be called righteous— but, of course, at least José María wasn’t physically harmed by not being able to hide certain shapeshifter features.

“Urgent message, sirs,” José María said, holding out a piece of paper. Gabriel motioned with his head to Aziraphale to take it. “Just came to the office, sirs.”

“Does it need a reply?”

“No, sir.”

“Then why are you still here?” Under Gabriel’s grim smile, José María quickly backed out of the office. “All those years under Michael’s wings and he still doesn’t know his place. So, what does it say?”

Aziraphale unfolded the paper. “Luke Morningstar—notorious hippo thief and badman, wanted for the crimes of murder, armed bank and train robbery, dead or alive—was spotted in the area. Oh dear, that’s bad news.”

“What can I say?” Gabriel flashed his proudest smile. “Thriving little towns are real bandit magnets.”

“Yes, I just wish Mercy was more of an investor magnet—”

“You can’t rush progress, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale had never thought that he—the one person who had always been slow to catch up, to move with times—would feel progressive and downright rebellious in someone else’s presence.

“Gosh, right, jolly well— Erm, about this Morningstar. Shouldn’t we, I don’t know, try to catch him?”

Gabriel’s smile was replaced by a brief, disbelieving laugh. “Nonsense. Or do you feel like you of all people would be able to seize nobody less but the infamous Luke Morningstar? Most wanted bandit of the country, surely. Because I think that we should let dog eat dog, and in this case Morningstar is a dog and you’re a—”

“A hippo?”

“Exactly! I think that in your own field, being a hippo in this case, you’re a decent fellow. You really do your best, but still, you shouldn’t feel bad even if you fail at— At—”

“At being a hippo?”

“Er, yes, that. On the other hand, you shouldn’t feel bad about failing at being a dog because, obviously, you are not a dog. So, as I said, let dog eat dog, and you just don’t worry about failing. In general. It happens—although to some of us it happens more often than, well, to others.”

Visibly relieved to have reached the conclusion of his allegory (probably the first one of his life), Gabriel gave Aziraphale an expectant look.

“Thank you for the advice, Gabriel.”

“Now, now. I should pop into the— Many things on the agenda.” Waving a hand at the cold remains of Aziraphale’s lunch, Gabriel headed for the door. “Clear that off, will you?”

With a sad sigh over his ruined meal, Aziraphale leant back. He knew that he wasn’t a dog but he didn’t particularly feel like a hippo either. Most of the time he just felt like a human. He also knew that, if it came to that, a hippo could easily snap a dog in half. But most importantly, he understood that protecting the people of Mercy was a task for the Sheriff Office and it could not be delivered to fate, no matter what Gabriel thought.

So that night Aziraphale packed a bag, saddled Miracle and, with the Moon shining bright over them, rode out of Mercy to search for the bandit Luke Morningstar.

*****

For a moment, Aziraphale thought the slender black figure waving at him was playing the old ‘Help! My hippo was stolen!’ bandit trick.[1] Then as he got closer, he could make out a fiery red patch of hair under the wide brim hat (shockingly red, shockingly familiar) and the voice sounded positively friendly, shouting—

“Aziraphale! It’s me.”

Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat.

“Crowley,” he breathed out. How did he not recognise that warm ‘Smiling? Who’s smiling? Not me!’ smile from miles away? “Crowley!” he repeated, this time shouting.

The slide off Miracle’s back was anything but graceful and Aziraphale nearly topped it by running towards Crowley and enveloping him into a squeezing hug— but in the end, he simply went for a warm handshake.

“Crowley, old boy. It’s so good to see you.”

“You too.”

The mutual pleasantries were followed by a grinning contest, forgetting to let go of each other’s hand; after a long silence, filled with unspoken missed-yous, Aziraphale was the first to withdraw his hand.

“I must tell you, I didn’t expect to run into anyone at such an early hour.”

“Same here, angel, same here. I just woke up; didn’t expect to see a friendly face at this friendless place.”

“Did you spend the night here?”

“Yeah. Queenie is still napping right behind that big lump of rock.”

“So you were playing the old stolen hippo trick after all.”

“Hng. Not with you, angel. Never with you. But you know how it goes, we ol’ bounty hunters like to keep a trick or two up in our sleeves.” Crowley shrugged. “But what about you? Riding all night?”

“Headed out right after midnight.”

“That late, huh? Are you on the run?”

“After not seeing me for eight years, that’s the first thing you can think of? That I have— That I’ve turned into some sort of criminal?!”

“Just pulling your leg. I don’t think you could ever do the wrong thing.”

No matter how indignantly Aziraphale huffed and puffed, he couldn’t resist Crowley’s shy, apologetic smile.

“Oh. Thank you.”

“‘Though I hope you aren’t in trouble.”

“I’m not, but Luke Morningstar will be when I find him,” Aziraphale said with more vehemence than he felt.

“You what?”

“I’m on a quest to find the bandit Luke Morningstar and throw him in jail.” Spelling it out made the whole business sound completely ridiculous. “After all, I’ve been undersheriff for some time now, so, as guardian of the law, I feel it’s my duty to protect the people. And why wait for trouble, why not thwart it in advance?”

“Yeah, why not?” Crowley hummed.

“But enough about me. What have you been up to all these years?”

“This and that, you know. Bit of gold digging… as in digging a tunnel into a bank and helping myself to some gold—”

“Crowley!”

When they were younger, Crowley would say the most startling things and Aziraphale always had trouble figuring out if he was exaggerating, being serious or just joking. Life with Crowley had never been boring, and while Aziraphale tended to complain a lot about Crowley’s antics, he couldn’t have wished for a better friend. He had to admit, at least to himself, that the last eight years without Crowley were emptier and less colourful.

Before he got too emotional, Aziraphale decided to change the subject.

“Actually, I feel quite famished after such a ride. I have a bit of bread and cheese in my bag; I could share it with you if we move this conversation into the soothing shade of that rock.”

“I’ve an even better idea. Oxfield isn’t far from here—big town, clear water, decent food, maybe tips of Morningstar’s whereabouts… Let me tempt you to a spot of breakfast.”

“Temptation accomplished.”

Maybe it would have been decent to hesitate a bit but Aziraphale didn’t feel the willpower in himself to resist Cro— breakfast.

They mounted their hippos (Miracle and Queenie greeted each other with happy, deafening grunts) and headed towards Oxfield at a comfortable pace. Aziraphale knew and appreciated that Crowley, being a speed demon, slowed down for him, instead of urging Queenie to an invigorating morning gallop.

“Tell me about this sheriff of yours.”

“Gabriel? He’s, um, he’s very serious. I’m not even sure he has a sense of humour. He’s always very collected—although he can ask the strangest questions…”

“Like what?”

“For example, Gabriel sometimes asks if I’ve recently seen my friend, Dorabella. I don’t even know who she is.”

“Dorothy.”

“Oh, you know her?”

“It’s a phrase— Hell, no, you know what? Just ignore him.”

“I can’t ignore him, he’s my boss,” Aziraphale argued but was it just his imagination or did Miracle actually grunt with disdain? “But I like to treat his opinions with, er, a bit of critical thinking. Like, he despises shapeshifters, while I’d never—”

“That’s not critical thinking, just common sense.”

From the corner of his eyes, Aziraphale caught Crowley adjusting the dark lenses covering his snake eyes. Crowley had never talked about the years of Before—before they had first met, before Crowley had become a free man… Well, as free as a shapeshifter hiding his true nature could be. Aziraphale had always found Crowley’s eyes most beautiful (they had the richest, warmest amber colour he had ever seen); it was a shame they had to be covered.

Knowing that he’d regret his offer in about five seconds, Aziraphale asked, “How does a little competition sound?”

“The last one to reach that cactus is a blind rough-legged buzzard!” Crowley grinned, then urged Queenie to run, “Wahoo!”

With a sigh, Aziraphale grabbed his hat for possible leading wind, and nudged Miracle with his knee. “Yeehaw!”

[1] Which meant shouting ‘Help! My hippo was stolen!’ at the side of the road, trying to convince the lone traveller that the “bandits” disappeared behind the one rock/slope in sight, lure them around it, and rob them. It wasn’t a very popular bandit trap (only worked on meek and helpful travellers) but rookie robbers quickly got a taste for it.


	2. The Worst Liar in the Country

Crowley noticed the plants the day Aziraphale almost got himself killed.

When they left the remains of their breakfast (two empty coffee mugs and an empty tin plate) with a couple of maravedís behind in Oxfield, on the table, where Crowley had rested his hand, a seedling lay snug. It completely slipped their attention as they were too busy discussing if hippos were the cleverest animals on Earth or not. During breakfast, they tried to catch up—Crowley shared as much of the past eight years as he felt safe but mostly he let Aziraphale chat about his life in Mercy—however, it clearly wasn’t enough to make up for the lost time. So, Crowley decided to tag along and keep Aziraphale company. Who said that looking for the whole Wild West’s most wanted bandit couldn’t be fun?

If flowers sprung where they set up camp to have lunch, both of them remained blissfully oblivious about it. They were already on the perimeters of Bayou Warlock, so a bit of greenery wasn’t suspicious, and anyhow, Crowley was too busy listening to his an— friend. Maybe a bit too busy, completely missing the huge KEEP OUT! DANGER ZONE AHEAD! board they passed—but who could blame him when every passing second it became more and more obvious that Gabriel was an utter wanker?

“Dunno, angel. I still think you should let Gabriel’s remarks slide off you like water slides off— Off— Whatever it slides off!”

“A hippo’s back?” Aziraphale offered.

“No.” Crowley shook his head and a sly leaf fell out of his hair.

They sank into silence for a while, riding deeper and deeper into the place. Insects were buzzing around them but otherwise the place was quiet; one could have called it almost peaceful.

“Does it look familiar yet?”

“No, not really. But it’s been a long time since I last passed here; the path might be, er, overgrown now.”

“I thought you _knew_ a shortcut.”

“I said I knew a _secret_ path.”

“We’re lost, aren’t we?” Aziraphale sighed.

“Not… yet.”

“Well, maybe if we turn around now and take the main road, we can still reach Fort St. James before the night falls.”

Crowley wanted to bang his head on the nearest tree trunk. He had always found his best friend’s optimism adorable and annoying at the same time— especially when he knew he would have to wipe that hopeful smile off Aziraphale’s face. It had usually led to an awful lot of stuttering, a string of consonants that made no sense, and a series of white lies.

“Ngk. Listen, angel, I don’t think— Only if we could find the river, it could serve as an orientation— I know you detest camping in damp places, but— Uhh, consider this. So— Maybe, maybe it’s starting to look familiar? I think I’ve seen a bush that’s—”

“Oh, look, a road sign! Luck of the devil, I say.”

The board that Aziraphale was pointing at was definitely not a road sign. Nobody in their right mind left directions in the middle of nowhere, because the moment they did, the place stopped being the middle of nowhere. Also, for a long time luck had been avoiding Crowley, so finding help (even in the form of a few boards tied together) would have been a true miracle. Now, the only miracle Crowley knew was Aziraphale’s hippo, unsuspectingly trotting closer to the board.

“Danger,” Aziraphale read. “What’s R. O. U. S.?”

Yep. Definitely no luck working there.

Crowley let out a sigh before shouting back, completely forgetting that, given the circumstances, they shouldn’t raise their voices. “Ravens of unusual size.”

“Ravens of unusual size? I don’t think they exis— Umfph!”

With an aggressive flutter of wings, a raven of unusual size whoosed into the picture and knocked Aziraphale off his hippo, followed by a whole squad of ravens. A splash signalled that Aziraphale had finally found the river and fallen right into it. Miracle roared at the angry-looking birds and snapped at them, but there were just too many of them with too many feathers and with too sharp beaks. Soon they were targeting Miracle’s eyes, who, bawling furiously but quite helplessly, tried to shake them off without any success. It became obvious that, no matter the size difference, they would eventually overpower the huge hippopotamus before he could reach his master in the river. His master who still failed to reappear.

“Aziraphale! Oh, bollocks!”

Slipping off Queenie’s back, with no plan in mind, Crowley rushed to the scene to lend a helping hand. Well, he had one, half-formulated plan that consisted of the following steps: pull out gun, give a warning shot, shout menacingly.

“I never miss my target!”

Some of the younger ravens with easily irritated survival instincts flew away but the older, tougher ones weren’t to be scared away so easily.

“Shoo! Shoo!” With wide gestures, Crowley tried to wave away the remaining menaces— and he was the most surprised when pine cones shot out of his fingers and hit the ravens. “What the—?!” Some of the ravens, obviously shocked by the sudden increase in local biodiversity, fled the scene but still not all of them.

He snapped his fingers. Nothing. Not a single pine needle.

“Come onnnn!”

Nothing happened. Crowley drew the conclusion that acting like a conifer was something that happened to him and nothing that he could control, then drew a deep breath. In two long strides he was by Miracle’s side, enjoying the ravens’ full attention.

Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

Crowley let his features morph into his snake form. As he didn’t plan to actually eat and digest the birds, he didn’t go for a full body change, just his head— but his open mouth and huge fangs were enough on their own to scare the rest of the ravens away. Satisfied, Crowley snapped his mouth shut with a bloodcurdling sound and changed back.

“There, there,” he said, eyeing Miracle’s wounds. Although numerous, they didn’t look serious but there were a few deeper gashes. “I’m sure Aziraphale has a poultice or— Fuck, Aziraphale!”

In his haste, Crowley tried to climb over the poor, shocked Miracle’s back, which only resulted in him landing in the river right next to a pale-looking but still breathing Aziraphale. His deputy sheriff hat hopelessly crumpled under him, Aziraphale was lying in the shallow water, his head resting on an arm-thick root. He must have hit his head on the root—knocking himself unconscious—it was mere luck that he didn’t slip into the water and drown.

“No, no, no, no! Come on, angel, wake up! Aziraphale! Work with me here, please.”

After some gentle shaking, slapping, poking, pressing, Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open.

“Crowley,” he sighed.

“Welcome back, angel.” Crowley carefully helped Aziraphale into a sitting position. “How do you feel?”

“Quite silly, I must say.”

“You hit your pret— your head pretty hard.”

“It’s nothing, really. I’m just wet and embarrassed.” Aziraphale’s smile was as radiant as ever—maybe, if that was possible, even shinier. “I’m very grateful to you, my dear.”

_‘Don’t turn it into a habit.’,_ Crowley wanted to say, accompanied by a manly grimace, but instead he blurted, “You’re shining.”

Aziraphale gingerly touched the back of his head, then examined his fingers but he couldn’t see blood on them.

“Sure you didn’t hit your head too hard?”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“We should get on then. Those angry birds might return any time and Miracle is in need of a bit of medical attention—”

“Oh, Miracle, my poor boy!”

In his haste to jump up and rush to his hippo’s side, Aziraphale swayed a bit, but Crowley caught him. Well, he caught his elbow and his hand, as if they were readying themselves for a round of dance in the river, but at least both of them stayed on their feet.

“Here, let me.” To avoid further accidents, Crowley climbed out of the water before offering a helping hand. He would have sworn that Aziraphale shone even brighter when he pulled him out. “You’re lucky River Warlock is so lazy. You could’ve easily drowned.”

“I hope I didn’t worry you too much.”

“Ngk.” Crowley shrugged nonchalantly. When he saw Aziraphale lying in the river motionless, he didn’t panic. He just… felt the pressure of the situation.

“How did you chase those nasty birds away?”

While Aziraphale inspected Miracle’s battle wounds, Crowley summed up the events for him.

“Still a snake then?”

“What kind of a stupid question is that? What am I gonna be, an aardvark?” But there was no malice in Crowley’s voice, just the hint of some disbelieving eye-rolling.

“It was awfully nice of you, saving us.” Aziraphale beamed.

“Nice is just a four letter word.” As always, Crowley’s grumpy mumbling was ignored. “Come on, we should get going. It’s going to be dark soon.”

****

Aziraphale didn’t want to saddle Miracle again before he could get proper care, so they were plodding through shrubbery and swamps all afternoon, getting wetter and muddier with every step. At one point Crowley tripped on a root and it was Aziraphale’s turn to catch him.

“Dear boy, I think you should take off your glasses. It must be impossible to see in these shadows.”

Grunting something about style, Crowley followed the advice. Nevertheless, Aziraphale didn’t let go of his hand; while he considered those snake eyes exceptionally beautiful, he knew that Crowley’s eyesight was anything but exceptional. In his human form, he could see better than when he was fully snake but Aziraphale knew that Crowley leaned on his ears, his nose, and his quick reflexes as much as on his eyes— if not more.

If the warm feeling—that first appeared around Aziraphale’s head after Crowley rescued him from the R.O.U.S.—got stronger from the hand-holding, he ignored it.

For some time, they walked in silence, focusing on finding solid ground to put their feet on.

“Ducks!” Crowley’s unexpected bark nearly threw Aziraphale off his balance. (Luckily, he had a hand to hold onto.)

“Beg your pardon?”

“That’s what water slides off!”

“Ah.”

They walked on, leading the huffing hippos by the bridle.

“It’s a halo, an— Aziraphale.”

Once again, Crowley broke their comfortable silence, and before he could realise, a lie was slipping past Aziraphale’s lips, “Nonsense, my dear boy.”

“Your head is practically on fire.”

“I’m afraid it still won’t do as a bonfire if we have to camp here.”

“Yeah, well, not a bonfire but a— But it’s a torch!”

“It’s my head.”

“You’re my beacon.” Aziraphale focused very hard on not blushing. “In this scenario, I mean.”

“You can call it what you may but we should be thinking about how on Earth we will find a place dry enough to set camp for the night. At this point, it would be a true miracle to find proper shelter— Oh.”

Lost in their debate, they hadn’t noticed the little clearing until they stepped out right into it from the shadows of the plants. Across the clearing there stood a cabin, propped up on the tree behind it, with a sign in front of it that said: JASMINE CABIN. The door open, warm, yellow light spilled out and a woman’s lithe figure appeared in the doorway, beckoning them closer.

“Must be a witch,” Aziraphale whispered, thinking of all the stories he had heard, all the tales he had read.

“Yeah, a witch,” Crowley nodded.

In a blink of an eye, the hippos were unsaddled and tethered, and Aziraphale and Crowley were inside the cabin, the door firmly shut behind them. They found themselves in a cosy room with dried and fresh herbs and spices hanging around, making the place smell like the great bazaar, and with a very possibly magical fire in the centre.[1] Following the line of the tree that served as the back of the house a staircase spiralled upwards, probably leading to a bedroom, and on the windowsill, completing the picture, there was a huge black cat sitting and giving unsettling looks to the newcomers.

“We’re ever so grateful to you for offering us shelter and not leaving us to the mercy of insects and nocturnal animals. Dear lady, if we can ever repay your kindness—”

“Yeah, just tell us what we should donate to your… witchy household,” Crowley cut in.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale hissed. “Words are very important when you’re negotiating with—”

“Witchfolk,” their host helped him out. “It’s okay, I only charge my guests with a story. But Newt can accompany you on his banjo if you’d like.”[2]

“Jolly good. Let me introduce myself then: I’m Aziraphale Barboni and this is my, I mean, this is Crowley.”

“A. J., but Crowley will do just fine.”

“Welcome to Jasmine Cabin. My given name is Anathema María de los Dolores Lucerna y Device, but please, call me Anathema.” She gestured towards the cat sitting in the window. “This is Newt, my—”

The cat leapt from its place and in his jump shifted his form, so when he landed, a tall, dark-haired man with a strong chin, a goofy smile, and a long black tail was in his place.

“—my partner.”

“Newton Pulsifer, nice to meet you.”

“I’d call him my husband, but our bond was only accepted by the spirits of the earth, never by the law.” Anathema shrugged. “Please, take a seat.”

In awe, Aziraphale sank down onto a bench, the very one Crowley chose as well, and they ended up sitting shoulder to shoulder. Aziraphale could feel the thing around his head (he still refused to call it a halo) pulsing with renewed warmth. From the corner of his eyes, he caught Crowley playing with a daisy—he had no idea where Crowley acquired the flower but it was obvious that both of them found the situation a tad bit awkward. Not that Anathema was an unfriendly host or anything.

“Tea?” she asked, throwing herbs into a pot of steaming hot water. “You look like you’ve had a field day.”

“I could do with something stronger,” Crowley muttered.

“Why don’t you lean back and let Newt entertain you while I check on your hippopotamuses?” She offered them two cups in a manner that suggested that they would enjoy their tea whether they wanted or not.

“Entertain?” Newt raised an eyebrow.

“Go ahead, darling.”

With an apologetic smile, Newt took a banjo and, after a little tuning, started to play.

_A lost boy went out riding one coal black but starry night_

_He was looking for gold, he was looking to pick a fight_

_The dice was rolling, oh, he was playing a deadly game_

_When, from the well of time, an ancient voice called his name_

_‘If you wanna save your soul from fiery hell, son of mine_

_Change your ways, leave these games, oh but you must give up the fight_

_Cause you will ride forever on that range up in the sky_

_And once you are lost, nobody will hear your mournful cries’_

_Thus warned, he didn’t repent, he didn’t change his deadly ways_

_And from that starry night he would not live to see more days_

_Now with hooves on fire, hell-bent he is racing through the night_

_Forever lost boy, damned soul, ghost rider in the sky_

_Yippie I oh oh_

_Yippie I aye ye ye_

_Ghost rider in the sky **[3]** _

Any other day Aziraphale would have immensely enjoyed himself—he was being treated well by a nice couple, sitting by the fire, after reacquainting with his old friend, and he had just heard a wonderful new ballad. But alas, he had a turmoil of feelings straining his chest, and one of them was jealousy. He was jealous of these kind people who had been brave enough to defy the law and chose their love. It was something both beautiful and terrifying.

“What a nice song! Never heard it before.”

“It was written by Anathema’s great-great-great-great-grandmother,” Newt explained “Agnes Nutter.”

When Anathema returned—reporting that Miracle ate heartily, which was the first step towards nursing him back to health—, Crowley recounted their encounter with the R.O.U.S. for the second time that day. Well, Aziraphale tried to summarize the events, but soon he found himself stammering about how he had met Crowley for the first time ever, so his dear friend hushed him and now Aziraphale was listening to him telling their story. It was obvious from Crowley’s choice of words and tone that he had been worried for his friend’s life, which warmed Aziraphale’s heart. Eight years ago they had a tiny little disagreement and although they parted on friendly terms, Aziraphale didn’t hope Crowley would keep on caring for him.

“And how come your path brought you here, to Warlock’s land?”

“Warlock’s land?” Crowley repeated, frowning.

“The land belongs to the river that rules it. We’re merely borrowing it for our purposes,” Anathema explained.

“I’m on a quest; I must capture Luke Morningstar. In Oxfield I was tipped off that Morningstar had been last seen near Fort St. James, and Crowley was kind enough to show me a shortcut.”

“I see.”

Was it just his imagination or did Anathema give a short, suspicious look to Crowley? Aziraphale couldn’t decide.

“Well, as an ordinary village witch, I can’t give you better advice than that you should confront your own doubts and fears first. You’re heading down a dangerous path and if you plan to succeed, you must be able to trust each other.”

Aziraphale shuddered at Anathema’s grave voice, and suddenly the room around him felt ominous in the green light of the fire. He knew that he had the taste for fibs and white lies, but his strongest suit was lying to himself. To Crowley, he had always told the truth—or at least, his version of the truth, in order to protect their friendship. Or, if it came to that, there was always the option of _not_ telling. If he kept something to himself, that wasn’t a lie, was it? Aziraphale had his own little secrets but he felt almost sure that they would never endanger Crowley.

He opened his mouth to say something, to make the mood a little lighter but—

“Witch!”

The shout came from outside and it was immediately followed by the patter of dry mud and twigs hitting the side of the cabin, accompanied by the chanting of ‘Witch! Witch! Witch!’ in various, slightly high-pitched voices. It went on for a couple of minutes, then it slowly stopped.

“Goodness, what was that about?” Aziraphale gaped.

“Just some kids from a nearby village; I pay them to make a little rumpus once in a fortnight.” Clearly unbothered by the short-lived riot, Anathema reached for a basket packed full with food and walked to the door. “It does wonders to my reputation as a village witch. Excuse me for a moment.” She returned a few minutes later, without the basket—she had probably given it to the village kids, while slipping some maravedís into their pockets. “Now. How about dinner?”

****

The rest of the night at Jasmine Cabin passed uneventfully. In the morning, Aziraphale and Crowley thanked the couple for their hospitality and for showing them the way towards Village Warlock. Through the village they eventually reached the main road, so they could finally turn towards Fort St. James. After that? Aziraphale had no idea.

“There’s a comfy canyon nearby, we could check it out. You know, ‘stead of chasing Morningstar.”

They were still on the outskirts of Village Warlock, refilling their gourds from the river before riding out to the great open. Knowing that soon they would be spending hours under the sun, Aziraphale enjoyed the little shadow the plants around them offered, and proudly watched a much healthier looking Miracle enjoying the water. He didn’t even want to think about canyons where the blistering heat got stuck and made the place feel hotter than hell.

“Comfy? How can a canyon be comfy?” Aziraphale frowned. “Anyhow, it doesn’t matter, I suppose. I’m sorry, my dear, but we’ve been dilly-dallying more than enough in the past twenty-four hours.”

“Dilly-dallying?!”

“Well, whatever you wish to call it.”

“Good thing I have lots of other people to dilly-dally with, angel.”

It hurt but who was Aziraphale kidding? Of course Crowley had better friends to keep him company, more interesting people than Aziraphale could be. He should have known that Crowley had been humouring him when he decided to keep him company; maybe he also wanted to entertain himself before finding greener pastures—but it became painfully obvious that Crowley didn’t believe in the quest. Didn’t believe in Aziraphale.

“Of course you do.” Aziraphale blinked rapidly— to clear his thoughts, not to get rid of unwanted tears. Gabriel had called him many names for his weaknesses but one thing was for sure, Aziraphale had never been a cry baby. “Actually, I don’t need you to believe in me.”

“What? Who says anything about believing in you?”

Oh, he had forgotten how quickly Crowley’s temper could rise (and so could his voice) when he heard something that hit too close to home.

“What are we doing here, Crowley? Was there ever a shortcut?”

“I told you that the secret path I once knew is probably grown over now. Look, I’m sorry we got lost. And that you got attacked. Happy now?”

“You’re forgiven. I just wish you were honest with me.”

“Honest? Ask me anything, angel.”

“Was it really a shortcut gone wrong or were you buying time for someone else to help them escape?” Aziraphale pressed, the halo glowing hot around his head. “Why don’t you want me to find Luke Morningstar?”

“Listen, angel, Luke Morningstar is dangerous. Like, ‘killed more people than he can count’ dangerous.”

“So? You don’t think I can beat him?”

Crowley’s silence was a beat longer and graver than necessary, and Aziraphale’s heart clenched painfully.

“It doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is that you shouldn’t go on a quest that can easily turn into a suicide mission just to prove yourself to your asshole boss.” Aziraphale flinched. “Because we both know it’s not only about protecting the good people and fighting the bad, is it? It’s about _you_ not believing in yourself.”

If Crowley’s voice rose higher when he lost his temper, Aziraphale felt his body grow hot and cold at the same time when something hit too close to home.

“This is ridiculous,” Crowley went on. “You’re ridiculous. I don’t even know why I’m still talking to you.”

“Well, frankly, neither do I.” Aziraphale felt proud that his voice shook only a little.

“Enough, I’m leaving.”

“Where will you go, Crowley?”

“It’s a big world.”

“What are you going to do with your life?”

Crowley shrugged. “This and that. You know me.”

“That’s what worries me.” All his life Aziraphale had wanted nothing more than to settle while all his life Crowley did nothing but play the rolling tumbleweed. For a shapeshifter in hiding it would have been dangerous for him to stay in one place, so he had learnt to change places and jobs like a snake changes its skin. “I’m sure that you have a higher purpose than digging tunnels into banks.”

“Oh, that’s a bit holier-than-thou, isn’t it?”

“That’s the whole point. You are an outlaw, while I’m an undersheriff.”

“You’re a pompous jerkface’s underdog in a menial little town in the middle of nowhere.” Although the words hurt, Crowley’s voice wasn’t cruel— if anything, he sounded regretful, almost apologetic. “You can change that, Aziraphale. We can go off together.”

“Go off together?” Aziraphale had been used to getting told off from time to time but this was something new. Something exciting, something terrifying. He yearned to take Crowley’s hand and go—so he desperately needed to pretend he didn’t want to. “Listen to yourself. What would we even do? Join Morningstar’s gang?”

“Why not? I know the guy.”

Aziraphale felt the halo shake on his head a little.

“Whoops. I mean I don’t know him very well. It was only one job and I wasn’t present at the robbery, I only helped him with the preparations, so technically, that’s just a half-job for you.”

“Oh, Crowley. Have you been trying to protect him all this time?”

“You’re so clever. How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?” Crowley took a step closer and an orchidea sprung from the place he had been standing a second ago. “Okay, there is no shortcut, so what? I was only trying to protect _you_. Because Morningstar would destroy you without thinking and trust me, protecting the law and justice system that does shit to keep people safe is not worth it.”

“It’s not my place to judge the system,” Aziraphale retorted and tried very hard not to think about shapeshifter slaves, the insults little José María Jesús had to bear, or that Crowley had to spend his whole life hiding his true self. “Look, I-I-I’m quite sure if I can just— just do my duty and reach the right people, I can make this world a better place. Evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction. But it’s high time I do try to help along its destruction—” He felt his traitor lips wobbling. “—and that’s why I can’t run away with you. I don’t want to.”

“Angel! I apologise. Whatever I said previously, I didn’t mean it.” Aziraphale hated how desperate Crowley sounded, hated to have done this to him. “Work with me. How long have we been friends?”

The air was heavy with the scent of orchids now as the flowers kept popping up around them. Aziraphale didn’t understand what they meant, he only understood that Anathema had been right. If he truly cared about Crowley, he couldn’t keep him by his side for simple selfish reasons, and to make sure that he stayed out of harm’s way, Aziraphale didn’t have to let him go— he had to push him away. Crowley, loyal and brave Crowley, would stick by, letting Aziraphale lead him to danger with his self-lies and half-truths, unless Aziraphale convinced him otherwise.

“Friends? We aren’t friends anymore.” Aziraphale grabbed his halo and tried to yank it off as he yelled, “I don’t even like you!”

“You do!”

The halo didn’t give and Aziraphale felt tears of frustration (maybe of anger but definitely not tears of sorrow and regret) well up in his eyes. He took a deep breath, inhaling the heady scent of the orchids, and forced himself to speak in a calm, cold voice. “That was a long time ago when we were friends. It’s over. We should have parted ways in Oxfield.”

“Right. I’m off then.” Crowley stepped back, retreating to Queenie. “And when I’m off on a new adventure, I won’t even think about you.”

Watching Crowley mount Queenie and ride away like he was chased by the devil nearly split Aziraphale’s heart in two but it also lifted a weight off his shoulder. And if he picked the completely out of place chrysanthemum that grew on the spot Crowley had last faced him, and put it away in his handkerchief, only Miracle would know—and hippos were awfully good at keeping secrets.

[1] The fire was greener than any emerald and was levitating in the middle of the room, that gave them a clue or two.

[2] Both Aziraphale and Crowley stole a glance at the cabin, looking for a vessel containing the magical banjo-playing newt, much to their host’s amusement.

[3] In a parallel universe, a man called Johnny Cash sang about a herd of red-eyed cows plowing through the ragged skies. Interesting.


	3. I Want to Break Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, ladies and gentlemen and those who have yet to decide, finally we get we've all been waiting for: the amazing, wonderful, brilliant art!  
> Can I get a wahoo for [toothedselkie](https://toothedselkie.tumblr.com/)?

“There, there. The lamb that wandered off didn’t get eaten by the wolves. What a surprise.”

Aziraphale was nursing his second beer (without Crowley, getting drunk was a painfully slow procedure) in the canteen of Fort St. James when Gabriel found him. Seeing his boss, his stomach clenched and the beer in his mouth tasted more bitter than ever, but it was a conversation he couldn’t avoid.

“Gabriel.” He nodded in greeting after swallowing the sip. Even though he couldn’t avoid this conversation, he would have wished for different circumstances. Caught getting drunk while mourning his friendship with Crowley was anything but ideal.

“I’m sure you have an explanation.” Gabriel’s smile had never been this wide. Ever. “And rest assured, I understand.”

“You do?” Aziraphale frowned.

“Honestly, I like that you dream big. I must confess that I’ve always been a bit worried about you lacking ambition. I mean, you keep your gun on your saddle, not on your belt—that’s not exactly battle ready, eh? But you’re ready to change… this.” Gabriel gestured at Aziraphale’s whole being, and he felt his body burn with humiliation. What was he thinking? The only good thing that had happened to him during this ridiculous quest was Crowley, and, with very hard work, he managed to push him away. “Aziraphale, it’s okay to fail. Once. Twice, that would be embarrassing and unforgivable.”

“I, I understand your point,” Aziraphale lied. “I just— Listen, Gabriel, I don’t mean to question— Well, see, if we’re both here, who is protecting Mercy from, er, certain bandits?”

“Don’t you worry about it, sunshine. Oh, what’s this?” Before Aziraphale could have stopped him, Gabriel reached out and touched his halo— only to jerk his hand back after a nasty, sizzling sound. For a moment, he looked like he couldn’t decide if he should be surprised or angry before settling on forced indifference. “Whatever it is, get rid of it.”

Aziraphale, finally admitting that Gabriel had never bothered to listen to him anyway, didn’t even try to explain that he  _ couldn’t _ . Maybe with time it would fade and disappear. Maybe if he learnt to stop thinking about Crowley—or, what an impossible thought, stopped caring for him.

“You’re a lean, mean fighting machine. Or something like that. Well, okay, you’re nothing like that right now but… you know.” Gabriel punched Aziraphale in the shoulder. Given the benefit of doubt, he might have meant it in a friendly way, but it still hurt a bit. “Lose the gut and embrace your inner warrior.”

“Yes, right, jolly good. Will do.” It wasn’t a promise, Aziraphale told himself, if your conversation partner wasn’t even paying attention to you. “I think I’ll pop back to Mercy. Just in case.”

“No, no, absolutely no need for that!” Gabriel protested with unusual vehemence. “Why don’t you enjoy your little trip a bit longer? You could stay for a while, breathe in the military air of the fort; it would be a win-win situation.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have some unfinished business in the area. Boring paperwork, nothing of your concern. So, farewell, good boy!”

Gabriel’s last words reminded Aziraphale of Crowley calling him an underdog but he dismissed the thought with a flinch. The ‘win-win situation’ phrase puzzled him more. He knew that Gabriel wasn’t exactly a wordsmith but this peculiar expression got stuck in Aziraphale’s mind.

Win-win. What an interesting choice of words indeed.

****

As hungry vultures gathered around him in badly masked excitement, Crowley had to admit that this was another one of his poor life choices. Probably the last one, though.

It started out, as usual, with a half-formed plan.

From his exciting bounty hunter years, Crowley picked up a few tricks on ‘how to find people who don't want to be found’—one reason why he could deceive Aziraphale so easily. (Another reason was that Aziraphale had trusted him and Crowley betrayed his trust, but he decided not to think about that. Nope. He was totally not dwelling on it.) And since he had encountered Luke Morningstar before, he had a few ideas about where and how to look for him. So, finding the hippo thief and notorious bandit when he actually wanted to find him was a piece of cake. (He definitely didn’t think about how much Aziraphale liked cake either.)

“Crawly.” Much to his surprise, Morningstar remembered him. Sort of. Crowley pondered correcting him but it felt, well, not really impolite, more like dangerous.

“Hi, guys.” Morningstar’s two bodyguards? minions? grimaced back. “How are the bad deeds of the day going?”

“What do you want, Crawly? Came to play with the big boys?”

Crowley braced himself. He knew how to play smooth and confident; he had made it his life mission to learn it.

“Look, I have information, and I know you can turn the right info into solid gold, so I thought, why not? Why don’t I join your gang for the benefit of both of us? You know that I’m good and trust me, I know that you’re unstoppable.”

“Sorry, no recruiting today.” Morningstar flicked a real up into the air, then caught it and lifted it to his eyes. “You have nothing to offer me.”

“Come on. Try me.”

“Listen, kiddo, I’ve been playing poker since before you were born. You don’t want to play with me, trust me.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “It’d be a funny old world if bandits went around trusting each other.”

“You’re funny, but don’t think that will save your neck. Okay, last time to back out.” The weatherbeaten bandit pointed a wrinkled, brown finger at Crowley. “No? Fine. Take your chance then.”

Sitting in his long, black leather coat under the hot sun, his old, shot-through hat sitting on a rock beside him, Morningstar seemed to be king of the desert. Trust him to hide out in the open, with his men sweating even in the shadow of a single, barren black spruce, the bandit who feared and obeyed nobody.

And Crowley was about to trick him.

“Mercy is a trap,” he bluffed.

It was the touchstone of his trick, the foundation of his half-existing, half-formulating plan. Crowley had no idea if Morningstar wanted to do anything at all with the town called Mercy, he was merely speculating. The tip that Aziraphale got in Oxfield made no sense as no bandit in their right mind would lurk around a military base such as Fort St. James with ill-will. That would be equal with dropping dynamite on your own head. Conclusion: Morningstar had set eyes on a nearby town, like Oxfield (huge bank and many important establishments, but always crowded with sheriffs, marshalls, and bounty hunters) or Mercy (small, insignificant, but had its own neat little bank). While others would go for the bigger catch, Morningstar wasn’t like anybody else—that was how he had earned his reputation in the first place.

“How would you know?”

“I’ve my methods,” Crowley boasted, before adding, “I plied the sheriff with liquor; he was singing like a bird.”

For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, he saw something flash in Morningstar’s eyes. Was it suspicion?

“The undersheriff.” Crowley felt safer to rectify his previous statement. Lie big but not too big, that was his motto.

“Ahh.” Morningstar relaxed his posture. “You are lying, and you’re going to pay for it with your life.”

So, it  _ was _ suspicion—just not the kind Crowley was looking for.

“Any chance for a head start?”

“Seize him.”

“Uh-oh.”

Crowley had a routine for situations going wrong: 1. leap onto Queenie’s back, 2. ride like hell. Of course, usually it didn’t involve Morningstar throwing a lasso around Queenie’s neck, while Crowley was grabbed at his elbows by the bandit’s minion, but he trusted his hippo. They’d had some rough rides together.

“Come on, Queenie!” Crowley shouted and squirmed as he too was tethered by a rope. Nothing he hadn’t seen before; he just needed to transform and slip out of the knot, while Queenie snapped her bindings, and in a blink of an eye, they would be on the road again.

Crowley tried to change but nothing happened. Not even a single scale appeared, and, as he glanced sideways, Queenie (his precious, headstrong, mighty Queenie) was just as unsuccessful in freeing herself as her rider.

“Handy, huh?” Morningstar grinned. “I had these special ropes made for such loose-spined shapeshifters like you are.”

“Queenie,” Crowley whined in a somehow embarrassing fashion but he couldn’t care less, not when his hippo’s life was at stake.

“Crawly, Crawly, Crawly. You should have paid better attention to the rumours about me.” Much to Crowley’s dismay, Morningstar patted Queenie’s neck and she bore it with a panicked look in her eyes. Crowley had never seen her so helpless, and the sight made him want to cry. “No hippopotamus can act against my will. Don’t worry, she will make a nice addition to the gang.”

And now Crowley was swaying on a dry tree branch with the special rope tied around his neck, waiting for Morningstar to give the sign. Would he give the sign to one of his minions or would he himself push the branch from under Crowley? Not that it really mattered. All Crowley wanted to do was protect Aziraphale from Morningstar—since he couldn’t steer his fri—, well, Aziraphale away from the threat, he had to try it the other way round. Where did it lead him? Crowley would become bird food, that was where.

A rhythmical thumping broke his train of thoughts, that seemed to get closer and closer, bringing a cloud of dust with it and making the earth shake so much for a moment Crowley feared the branch would roll away on its own. Morningstar and both of his minions turned around— and had to take an undignified jump backwards as Aziraphale shot past them like fury incarnate on Miracle’s back.

“Wahoo, angel!” Crowley shouted with a wide grin plastered onto his face, momentarily forgetting that he was angry with Aziraphale. The second the words left his mouth, rose petals started falling from the sky— oh yeah, he forgot about  _ that _ too.

He expected at least a half-hearted yeehaw in response, not Aziraphale taking off his halo and throwing it towards him. It was not that Crowley’s eyes opened as big as saucers because he didn’t trust his friend, just— But he was already falling and landing with a thud, the noose hanging limp around his neck. Aziraphale’s halo was still quivering in the trunk of the black spruce.

Crowley sprang to his feet, his hands moving to yank off the rope, before midway changing his mind and grabbing the halo that cut him free. With one strong pull, he wrenched it out of the tree, and marvelled at the gentle warmth it radiated— only to be once again disturbed in his thoughts by Aziraphale, who hitched him up with unexpected force without stopping Miracle. Crowley landed in the saddle with a yelp.

“Hey, Aziraphale.” Feeling like a prince in distress rescued by his hero and melting a little inside, he held up the halo with a lopsided smile. “Look, souvenir!”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice was barely above a sigh, yet it appeared to contain all the halo’s warmth and shine. “Afraid I’ve rather made a mess of things.”

Before Crowley could have asked what Aziraphale meant, the halo was taken from him; Aziraphale used it to cut Queenie’s rope. Crowley, half-mad with joy, leapt off Miracle and hugged Queenie. In the middle of this rescue mission he couldn’t feel particularly angry with Aziraphale anymore, but his hippo was a friend unlike anyone else. For a starter, Queenie had never ever tried to drive him away.

“I don’t want to ruin the moment,” came Aziraphale’s apologetic voice, “but we’re going to have to get a bit of wiggle-on.”

Raising his head from the crook of Queenie’s neck, Crowley looked back and saw that Morningstar and his minions were very much back on their feet.

“Go, get the others, we’re moving on,” Morningstar barked and the two bandits obediently mounted their hippos. “I’ll deal with these four myself.”

Recognising a moment that shouted for action, Crowley practically threw himself onto Queenie’s back.

“You know, the rumours are all true,” Morningstar went on, malice burning in his eyes. “I’m indeed a  _ hippo _ thief.”

What happened next was both beautiful and horrible in its magnitude. In front of their awed company, Morningstar transformed into a huge hippopotamus, bigger and tougher than they had ever seen. He opened his mouth, showing a set of deadly-looking teeth, then snapped it shut menacingly.

Then the chase began.

Hippos, generally large and fat animals, having to move a lot of fat, bones, and muscles, were often mistaken for slow beings. However, on short distances, they were quite the runners, so when Aziraphale squeaked ‘Yeehaw!’, simultaneously with Crowley shouting ‘Wahoo!’, Miracle and Queenie started to race like the devil was chasing them. It was bad enough with Morningstar roaring behind them and snapping his jaw furiously, but when his whole gang decided to join the chase, Crowley knew they needed to find an escape route.

“This way, angel!” he shouted over the rumble of the earth under the hippos’ footfalls. “Head for Canyon M25!”

“M25?! What kind of a name is that?”

“A good conversation starter!” Crowley yelled back in frustration. Aziraphale could be so picky sometimes, seriously. “It’s mostly dry at this time of the year, but it should lead us to River Eden!”

Another interesting name, especially for a river, but this time Aziraphale didn’t fuss, just urged Miracle to gallop faster with another yeehaw. In the long run, they had more chances to escape in water than on bone dry land.

Thumpa-thumpa-thumpa! Hippo feet banged on the ground, as they turned into the canyon. Pew! Pew! Pew! Bullets flew around Crowley and Aziraphale, many missing them by millimeters. Tichu-tichu-tichu! Guns were cocked and empty cartridge cases littered the path behind them. Miracle and Queenie were heaving, their pace gradually slowing down, and Crowley lived to say the day when his body was covered in sticky and cold sweat from the heat and sheer dread. He had never considered himself a coward but being hunted by the most dangerous bandits of the Wild West put his life into a new perspective.

“Not long now!” Aziraphale whooped and Crowley felt his heart swell with renewed spirit. “Not that I’d know— I mean— Oh, fuck!”

They came to a sudden halt in front of a rockslide that cut off their way.

“Whoa!” Crowley tried to soothe a stomping and panting Queenie. “There, good girl.”

But deep inside, he agreed with his hippo. It was the end of the line and they had exhausted their A, B, C and Z plans, half-formed or else.

“I’d just like to say,” Aziraphale said with a sad smile, “if we don’t get out of this—”

“That’s right.”

Trust Aziraphale to put up a brave face and act all polite and polished when there was no hope left.

“—that I’ll have known, deep down inside, that you liked me enough to die by my side.”

“Yeah, make my day,” Crowley muttered and tried not to blush too hard as sunflowers reared their heads around them. One last item to tick off his bucket list: die knowing that Aziraphale finally discovered your pathetic little crush on him.

“Nice knowing you.”

Aziraphale held out a hand, and Crowley took it.

“Here’s to next time,” he said. “And… Aziraphale?”

“Yes?”

“Just remember, I’ll have known that, deep down inside, you were just enough of a bastard to be worth liking.”

Dignity? It would be undignified to die without confirming that  _ yes, angel, I cared, very much in fact, I was just very bad at caring. _

“Sorry to break up an intimate moment—”

Aziraphale’s head shot up, his eyes going wide. “Gabriel!” Although his voice didn’t carry as much relief as it had when he’d gotten fished out of River Warlock, for a second Aziraphale made Crowley believe that they would be rescued. Even if it meant, a horrible thought!, getting rescued by Aziraphale’s high and mighty boss, who descended on the rockslide like he was auditioning for the archangel’s role in the nativity.

Then, just when Morningstar and his gang finally caught up with them, ready to strike, Gabriel pointed his gun— on Aziraphale.

“Off the hippopotamuses and hands in the air! Both of you.”

“You can’t do this,” Crowley complained with the realisation nagging his brain that things just took a turn for the royally fucked-up. Morningstar changed back into human form and his devilish grin was another nail in the coffin of Crowley’s sanity.

“I’m the Sheriff Fucking Gabriel, sunshine.” Gabriel cocked his gun. “Aziraphale and your boyfriend in dark glasses, you’re both under arrest.”


End file.
